The Weight of the Past
by LibertyBelleAnne
Summary: Johnny is forced to face a part of his past. For Whumptober 2019 #16 Pinned Down


**Disclaimer: I don't own any cowboys.**

**A/N: For Whumptober 2019 #16 Pinned Down**

**The Weight of the Past**

The bullet hit him just before he sensed a threat. He crashed to the ground and scrambled for cover immediately. A few small rocks formed a little outcropping he could squeeze his body behind. His green mount took off in fright. He had been on his way to check the damage a recent lightning strike had caused to Lancer land. The nervous horse, he was training, had been unsettled by the lingering smoke in the air. So he didn't pay it much mind when she stamped her feet nervously. Seconds later his side exploded in pain as he found himself on the wet charred ground, struggling to breathe.

He coughed harshly as he caught his breath, the smoky air making his fit last longer. Groaning as the movement pulled at his side. Sticking his fairly clean bandanna against his wound; he held his hand against it tightly, trying to slow the bleeding.

He figured his shooter was up on a nearby ridge waiting to finish him off. While he was deadly with his revolver, it would do him no good in this long-distance fight. Any chance he had, was with his rifle. The rifle that was secured to the horse that was halfway back to the hacienda by now. He lifted his head up an inch and nearly had his hair parted by his attacker. He felt rock chips sting into his cheek. He hissed in pain, cursing his unknown assailant. The bushwhacker knew right where Johnny was and still had a bead on him.

Scott would be able to shoot the balls of the bastard. He ignored the intrusive thought. Scott was out on the other side of the ranch checking fence-lines. His complacency and reliance on others to watch his back was the reason he was in this mess in the first place. His instincts and reflexes were slowing. He was slowing down.

He was pinned down, with no way out. Help, if it came, was too far away. He was on his own. Just like he'd been most of his life. He'd always figured a way out, against all odds. He'd been fine, if maybe a little worse for wear. He could look after himself.

"Madrid!"

There went any hope that it was a random bushwhacker that would soon lose interest or nerve. His shooter knew who he was; this was personal. It would only end in one of two ways. Johnny would kill the other man or Johnny Madrid would finally meet his expected violent end. Men in his previous line of work, who lived by the gun died by it. Often even if they tried to leave it all behind. It had a way of sneaking back upon you and shooting you in the back when you weren't looking.

His enemy was smart. He never broke cover, never coming closer, staying out of handgun range. Clearly, he was wary of Madrid's reputation with a revolver. He used his sharpshooting skill to his advantage. The ex gun-hawk was trapped like an ant under a piece of glass, just waiting to burn.

The sun was setting. Sending long shadows across the land.

The second Johnny tried to change position shot fired towards him with precision. He was trapped. His sharp blue eyes calculated the distance to the nearest tree line. The trees left standing were thin and skeletal, blackened by fire. It was his only option, to stay huddled behind the relative safety of the rocks until it grew a little darker, then he'd make a run for it. He didn't want to wait too long and let his shooter catch him by surprise again.

He took off at a zig-zagging run into the dim dusk. He felt fire light up in his head. He went down to his knees in the shelter of burned trees with a deep graze along his forehead. The sting in his cheek and the ache in his wounded side paled in comparison to the knifelike pain in his head. His vision became spotty, shadows and darkness. He staggered up and ran. He's was feeling the effects of blood loss despite his efforts. His breathing came out in harsh pants. His tongue was fuzzy and his throat felt like sandpaper. He could feel the sharpshooter dogging his every step in the dark.

The Old Man was right. He was nothing but trouble. He'd die out here and all Murdoch would think was that he rode out on them, again. Scott probably wouldn't believe that. Maybe he'd ride up and find his body before the animals, maybe not. He crashed to his knees once more. No matter what they'd think, he knew he'd let his brother down. His father would be disappointed but not surprised. He was going to die as a gunslinger. No matter how hard he tried to be a Lancer, Madrid was always waiting in the shadows. He couldn't escape his past. He couldn't escape who he was.

The sun was rising. He tried to push back to his feet. He was spent. The ash and blood covering his face hid his unhealthy pallor. His gun was out of his holster and in his hand before his shooter was even in view. They stand in a Mexican Standoff. Rifle against revolver. He tries to control his body swaying and turn his double vision into a clear picture of his target.

The man laughed. He knew that laugh. He knew who shot him. He knew why his tormentor spent the night chasing him down. He was here to kill Johnny Madrid to avenge his twin brother's death. It had been a fair fight but Madrid was faster. Johnny doesn't plan of dying by the man wearing the face of someone he'd already killed. He steadied his hand to cock the hammer back. He pulls the trigger. The nightmare from his past goes down.

He doesn't stay down. He clutches his bleeding middle before he rushes at Johnny with a yell. They end up on the ground. Both bleeding fighting each other for control of Johnny's gun. A sucker punch to the head causes Johnny's vision to blacken. He fights to breathe through the pain as nausea churns in his gut.

He lays sprawled on the ground, his gun out of reach. A boot digs into his shoulder, pinning him down flat. He watches through blurry eyes as his gun was picked up. Panting waiting for the bullet from his own gun to end him. He'd pictured this moment most of his life, the moment of his death. He always figured he'd die with a gun in his hand. He smirked, the Old Man always yelled that he would. At least he'd get to prove him wrong for once.

"Johnny!" He heard his brother shout and then a gunshot.


End file.
